


The Tale of The Weeping Song

by Star_Nymph



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Asperger Inquisitor, Asperger Syndrome, Dragon Age Lore, Elven Lore, Gen, Greek Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 01:54:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11590557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Nymph/pseuds/Star_Nymph
Summary: "There once was an elven prince who loved his wife so that he would defy Falon’Din's good charity if only to see her again."--or my attempt at writing elven tales.





	The Tale of The Weeping Song

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while back as a prologue for my Inquisitor's story but it slowly didn't fit so I left it out. Still, I liked it enough so I though I'd put it up as a character study for Eurydice and also a study in Elven myth and lore.
> 
> The myth in the story is based on Eurydice and Orpheus because, clearly, I'm not that creative. If you have any comments or helpful tips please feel free to write something. I’ll definitely appreciate the feedback! Thank you for reading!

“Eurydice. Eurydice! Away from there now. Come to me.”

It was raining outside. Her hand fisted the canvas’ opening and she yanked at it, thinking doing so would somehow stop the water from falling from the sky. It did not. The drops fell, drumming over their shelter’s roof rapidly and without mercy. The sound throbbed in her head; she blinked her eyes up at the sky quickly and stomped her heel on the ground in time with the noise.

Stop. Stop. _Stop._ Why won’t it _stop_?

Eurydice grabbed one of her ears and whined as if wounded.

“Eur- _y_! Come!”

Her ears twitched. She turned her head back towards where her maela and sister lay under the pelts; Melia was fussing over maela’s lap, kicking her tiny feet in the air. She grinned at her, several gaps between her baby teeth, and waved at her.

“Come on. It’s story time! Maela’s gonna fall asleep if you take too _looooong_.” She said and rolled on to her back, huffing as she added, “She’s too old to stay up too late.”

A tsk sounded from their maela as she suddenly bounced her legs and tossed Melia off. “Rude little thing. I’m not too old to turn that back side of yours red.” But if there was any real threat there, it was lost with her smile, lined with wrinkles at each corner of her pale pink mouth, and the mirth in her voice. She hastily put Melia down on the pelt on her left side, then patted the empty space to her right—always Eurydice’s spot.

Eurydice looked down at it and tilted her head. The rain still beat outside and around in her brain.

The aging elven woman eyed the child. “Enough now. You’ll catch a cold and I’ll be hearing none of your father’s usual nonsense because of it. The rain will be there as it always is, ‘ma’hallain.” She spoke softer as the sentence went on, her hand gently beckoning Eurydice.

Eurydice shifted between her feet and dragged her fingers through her hair. With one final look at the rain, the child walked over to the pelt and settled herself into the elf’s side. She fidgeted as she usually did, pressing her cheek against her maela’s chest, her eyes going between the source of the rain, her feet, the ceiling, then back to her feet. Briefly, she and Melia caught each other’s eye and her sister grinned again; Eurydice only shrugged and returned her stare back to her feet.

Their maela sat back and sighed. “Now then. What story is it tonight? Fravun no doubt weaved enough tales to have you say them by heart. Shall I tell you another from the Dales?”

Melia blustered and groaned melodramatically. “No, not _another_ one! Fravun is always talking about the Dales. It’s always _so_ boring.”

“Da’len, hush! You should respect our history. It’s your honor to hear it—“

“—or to be _bored_ to _death_! I’ll bury myself under a tree if I hear about it again.”

“Melia!”

If it were not for Eurydice’s hand in her maela’s braid, her little fingers pulling it apart, maybe then her sister would have gotten a smack for her whining. Her maela already had her hand raised when she felt the small tug and, turning away from the pouting younger child, she gave her older grandchild her full attention.

“Creators.” She whispered, her little flat voice hardly able to win out the storm beyond, and peered up at her through her eyelashes. “Tell us a story about the Creators.”

Was it a strange topic to ask for? Eurydice didn’t think so, but then perhaps it wasn’t the request so much as the person asking for it that gave her maela reason to pause. It was not often the child was grounded enough to care what was being said or done.

Her maela drew her lips into a thin line and hummed in thought. “Creators…” She breathed out.

Eurydice let go of her braid and moved to get look at her maela’s face. Or, rather, she looked at the wrinkles which danced across her skin, the way they followed the twitches of her lips and eyes. She looked there and at the pale blue lines of her tattoo—the mark of Dirthamen—and felt the urge to grab them and peel them off her skin as one would peel a fruit.

She almost reached for her face, curious to see if it came off as she thought it might, but her maela spoke again and Eurydice’s attention fell to her lips.

“I think I’ve thought of one just for you, ‘ma’hallain. It is one of maela’s favorites.” Her maela said and swept a piece of Eurydice’s bangs out of her face—it fell back over her eyes as soon as her hand left her, however. She smiled and asked Melia, “What of you? Is that entertaining enough?”

The younger elf had rested her head on her arms, content to watch her sister do anything with a look which promised nothing but troublesome thoughts. She nodded her head excitedly, her white hair flying this way and that. “Yeah! Tell it, maela!” She bounced, plopping her entire body back on her maela’s lap, despite the flinch on the old woman’s face, and shot her an expectant look.

Eurydice stiffly shuffled closer and waited, trying to mirror the same expression. It failed; instead, she appeared uninterested.

Her maela didn’t seem to mind.

“In the times of our glory, there was a prince born of a King of Arlathan who possessed a voice which enthralled the very ground he walked upon. He had a wit about him; a charm which caught both beast and elf in his spell when he would laugh—and with this voice he enjoyed playing games which no one could solve and asking questions to which there were no answers, and because they could not resist him, they would never give up and would only stop when he asked them to or when they fell down dead. A trickster, he was beloved by all only because they could not help it.

It was thus the prince came upon a young elven maiden who was so bright, some would say she was blessed and born in Elgar'nan’s light. Beautiful and timid, with eyes the color of waterfalls, the prince found himself falling for her. To win her heart, he would attempt to impress her with riddles, songs, poetry, and knowledge—but he found himself unable to talk when she smiled and would instead babbler on dumbly like a fool. Yet, somehow, the maiden had fallen deeply in love with him in return. So deeply captivated by each other, the lovers refused to be parted and soon were bonded together; the feast celebrating their union lasting from sunrise to starry night for three days and through it all, the young couple held each other’s hand and could look nowhere else but in each other’s eyes.

Yet, by fate, their blissful marriage would not last long.

It happened one day that the maiden had gone out to hunt that she ran into a wolf; gigantic, ravenous, with teeth sharp enough to rip the sky asunder, it chased her throughout all the lands, driven crazed by its desire to devour her. The maiden ran as far as she could, but she was so terrified by the beast which stalked her that when she looked behind her, she did not see the cliffside. She lost her footing and flung herself off the cliff to the seaside below.

When the prince found her, body lying broken under the blanket of the tide, her head was split down the middle and her eyes looked to nowhere but the beyond. The wolf was nowhere to be found.

The prince called for her to return to him, to heal her shattered skull and bring her once playful smile back to him, but as he discovered too late, the dead were the only beings in this world who would not heed his wonderful voice. He held his wife in his arms, weeping--and those who witnessed it said that his sobs were the most beautiful sounds they had ever heard.

A year would pass and yet the prince would not allow himself to grieve or give up on his dead wife. Unable to return to his once impish ways, he had begun to spurn the companionship of all and hide himself away in the temples of the Creators--pleading that one would answer his pray and bring his beloved wife back to him.

Walking deep within the temple of Falon’Din, the prince prayed first to Mythal and promised to her that only she may command his favored blades and he would only commit acts in her name if she would return her begotten love to his side. Mythal did not answer.

He called to Falon’Din and offered him his wisdom and his wit, that all all he may speak of was his greatness and seduce all he comes by to praise only his name if he would only guide his beloved wife back into his arms. Falon’Din did not answer.

Last he cried out to the Dread Wolf in desperation; _‘Take me where the Veil begins,’_ he begged, _‘let me bring my wife back to where the sun shines, and I will give you my very voice--for what use to do I have with such a thing if it cannot command her back to me?’_

Fen’Harel answered him.

Cloaked in the skin of a mortal elf, wrapped in the armor of mighty wolves, Fen’Harel stood before the Prince and told him that if he truly meant to give what he had promised, he would aid him. If he is brave, if his love is as true as he says, then he must go to Falon’Din himself and perplex the god with a riddle. While the god struggles to solve it, Fen’Harel would find his love and bring her back to him.

Then it would be up to the prince whether she lived or died.

The prince swore he would do as the god said. With heart so full--or perhaps blinded by his arrogance--he followed Fen’Harel along the path to the Beyond, where they soon found Falon’Din alone. Fen’Harel gave him greeting and mused to him that the mortal elf had told him the most interesting of riddles, but he could not solve it. _‘If I cannot do so, then you whose mind is as sharp as Andruil’s blade may’_.

Falon’Din’s interest was piqued. _‘If it gives pause to you, whose cleverness is unparalleled, then I may try.’_

So the prince spoke and gave him a riddle with no end or solution--and Falon’Din listened and fell to his voice’s spell, ignoring all to solve his question. As he did, Fen’Harel went Beyond the Veil and summoned the maiden back with him. He brought her back to the prince not as a living being, but as a shadow of herself, lingering still in the veil but unaware of who she was. He could not embrace her for there was nothing to truly touch.

The Dread Wolf gave him his wife’s shadow and a torch lit bright with fierce veilfire. _‘The path to your home is dark and winding--you must endure it on your own and never let this light go out or else you and she will never find your way.’_ He warned and then said, _‘Let not this burning veil touch her face nor may you turn back to her until she is touched by sunlight--for she is not yet real and would burn away if you are weak to temptation.’_

The prince was undeterred by the warning and set out with his beloved behind him. The road back to the sunlight was daunting and he stumbled in the darkness; every step he took, he longed to turn around and see that his wife was with him, for he could not hear her footfalls nor the breath she took and he thought, surely, that she must be lost or he had been tricked by the Dread Wolf.

Still, he did not turn and kept walking until the darkness gave way to a brightness in the distance. The prince rejoiced, and his haste, ran towards it suddenly and blew out the veilfire. He panicked, now unable to see a path before or the shadow of his wife and thought to himself that he had lost her. Frantic and driven foolish by his fear, he struggled to light the veilfire and then turned with it lit, right back towards his wife.

Illuminated by the light and stricken still by his eyes, his beautiful wife stood before him just beyond the sunlights touch. He reached to gather her in his arms, but in an instant, the maiden’s shadow was burning away and she was gone.

All that remained of her was her whispered, _‘Farewell’_.

Crying out in wretched horror, the prince attempted to return with her. He was confronted by an enraged Falon’Din, who was aroused by his brother Dirthamen and told the secret of the riddle. Offended by the prince’s trickery, he threw him out of his temple and into the sunlight alone, locking the gates in his face so he may never enter again. As the prince banged on the doors and called to be let in, the Dread Wolf appeared by his side as a large wolf and told him that it was time to make good on their bargain. The prince refused and told him that Fen’Harel had failed him, but the God only laughed in his face.

_‘I have done what was promised. The fool who failed was you alone.’_

The wolf opened his mouth and inhaled the prince’s scream, stealing his mystical voice away. The prince was turned mute and left in agony, weeping without voice or tears for his lost love. For the remainder of his sad days, the prince walked in solitude through the wilds in utter desolation, forsaking the company of all--unable to look upon anyone who was not his wife. Because he had lost his voice, he was no longer heeded by anyone and so the animals took no favor or pity on him. They attacked him, tearing him from limb to limb, devouring his head whole--and the prince, despondent, did not fight back. He was taken Beyond the Veil, but because of his insult against the Creators, Falon’Din refused to bring him to his wife and so they were never reunited. Despite it all, it is said that if you find yourself in the place where the prince’s blood was spilt, you can still hear his sweet musing for his love on the tongue of the wind.”

Melia had fallen asleep. Curled up against her maela’s stomach, she barely made a sound as she sucked on her fingers. Her maela let out a long, tired breath as she ran her fingers through the younger child’s hair. All that trouble she put her through for a story and she could barely stay up. She tsked, smiling despite herself.

When she looked to her side, Eurydice had returned her gaze to the storm once more. Her hands knotted themselves in the long strands of her hair, wrapping tightly and then tugged to free them. Her feet twitched, toes curling and uncurling, and then kicked as if trying to detach themselves from her. The child’s lips twitched downward; the storm still hadn’t stopped and she could not understand why.

“Eurydice.” Her maela said. The child rigidly tore her eyes away from the rain and turned to the woman. “Did you enjoy the story?”

The child grunted a low ‘yes’ and looked down at her feet. She messed with her hands some more, then suddenly threw them up and tossed them onto her legs with an exasperated sigh. “I do not...understand the story.”

Her maela, who had begun to feel the temptation of sleep call to her, blinked her eyes and sat up, careful not disturbed Melia in doing so. “You don’t understand what, ‘ma’hallain?”

Her little eyebrows knitting together only a fraction, Eurydice threw her a look as if _she_ was the confused one. How could she not get that she didn’t get it? The story didn’t make sense, simply as that.

“I do not understand it all. She is dead but he went to the Beyond to get her but he looked behind himself even though she would disappear. That doesn’t make sense. If he loves her, why wouldn’t he let her be dead? How can she go from dead to living if the light touched her? Why would he start to think she wasn’t there if he could not hear her? It...it…”

The rain beat the roof again and Eurydice whined, grabbing her ears and then letting go, irritated at both the sound and the story. Her maela grabbed her hand, shushing her, but Eurydice wiggled out of her grip.

“It’s okay, ‘ma’hallian. The story is a story and one to teach you that trickery is a fool’s game.” She told her, but Eurydice shook her head.

“But I do not understand. If he loved her, why did he look at her? If he hadn’t, she would have lived--but then if she had lived, would she have been happy?”

“It is because he let his love get the best of him. Sometimes when you are in love, you do not think rationally about such things. He looked behind himself at her because he loved her so much. As for her being happy to be alive--why wouldn’t she be?”

Her maela wasn’t getting at all. She was saying such things so simply but it wasn’t. If the prince loved her, he would have waited to meet her again in the Beyond. If he loved her, he would have waited to be in the sunlight, regardless of the veilfire’s light, so he could look at her. If he loved her, he should have understood she was there because where _else_ would she have gone?

But then, maybe that didn’t matter. Eurydice drew her legs up to her chest and put her forehead on her knees. She felt her maela’s eyes on the top of her head and heard her release a sigh, but she said nothing else—revealed that the conversation had ended, probably.

The child thought about the maiden Beyond the Veil; free in her dream, lingering with the secrets of their people, maybe a shadow of herself but that didn’t sound so bad to her. She thought about how painful it would been to be ripped out of that dream by the Dread Wolf, to be dragged around by the prince in the darkness, confused and slowly returning to herself but not able to because herself was gone.

Then becoming enough of _something_ to realize what was going on--only for the prince to turn around and for her to burn away because of him.

Because of his ‘love’.

Eurydice thought about that and, feeling her maela begin to slip away into slumber by her side, looked up at the rain and said, “He should not have looked behind himself.”

If the maiden was Eurydice, she would have blown that fire out and been happy to burn back into the Beyond--away from his ‘love’.

**Author's Note:**

> Elven phrases and words (credit to Project Elvhen by FenxShiral)
> 
> Maela- Nana, Nona, Grammy  
> Ara hallain / ‘Ma’hallain: My little halla calf, My baby halla  
> Da'len: Little child; little one.


End file.
